


The Spin I'm In

by luninosity



Series: Oh Boy! Or, Life's Better With A Buddy Holly Soundtrack [15]
Category: British Actor RPF, X-Men: First Class (2011) RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt!Michael, Hurt/Comfort, Love, M/M, Minor Injuries, brief mention of James having nightmares, while filming Macbeth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-14
Updated: 2014-10-14
Packaged: 2018-02-21 05:28:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2456480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luninosity/pseuds/luninosity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I broke two toes,” Michael complains, “tripping over a wall.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Spin I'm In

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt about getting some hurt!Michael while filming and how they cope--the prompt was originally way more specific than that, but…I had to massage it a bit to make it fit neatly in this series!
> 
> Currently probably the latest in the timeline of this series.
> 
> Title, opening, and closing lines from Buddy Holly’s “You’ve Got Love,” this time.

  
_ you’ve got two arms that you could use _   
_ to make me lose my blues _   
_ love, sweet love, you’ve got love _   
_ real fine love _   


  
  
Michael doesn’t say the _I feel stupid_ out loud, nor does he swear at himself. He does grab James’s hand and squeeze it before dropping his head wearily back on the hospital-bed pillows. Said pillows cradle all his bruises in supportive fluff. They shouldn't. They know how stupid he’s been.   
  
“No you’re not.” James kisses his fingertips, smile resurfacing in blue eyes, banishing anxiety.    
  
“I’m not what?”   
  
“Mind-reader, remember? —Also I can see it on your face. Very loud, your face.”   
  
“I broke two toes,” Michael complains, “tripping over a wall.”   
  
“Tripping over a thirteenth-century castle wall, and you know how ferocious our Scottish castles are, right?” James grins at him from the bedside chair. One leg’s tucked up beneath him; James, as ever, is too short for most furniture. The furniture can’t magically change shape, much as it might try, so James just curls up into it and pats the chair-arm absentmindedly along the way.   
  
Michael loves him. Michael loves him forever. More than the chair ever can.   
  
“I’m slowing down filming,” he grumbles, though they both know the production’s on hold until the heavy fog lifts. Scottish weather contributing overzealously to the atmosphere. Witches and spells out in the dark. “And I have stunt work to do.”   
  
“So you do, and so you will anyway.” James sighs. “Can’t convince you not to, can I…”   
  
“Would _you_ listen?”   
  
“Not in the least.” But that smile’s a bit crooked, self-mocking. They both know about James’s knee. About old tears and ragged pops and twists of joint. About nights that ache in the rain.   
  
James wouldn’t listen, no. They both do as much of their own stunts as insurance and safety regulations allow. They both know that once in a while James can’t.   
  
Michael, knowing all of this, knowing other things, knowing _why_ James hates taking painkillers on those nights, says, “I’m sorry.”   
  
“For what, getting a proper warrior injury?” James laughs, though his eyes catch Michael’s meaning and answer without words. “Not the Scottish Play if you’ve not sacrificed blood, is it? In your case blood and bone. Extra-witchy.”   
  
“I mean,” Michael tells him, twitching the leg in question irritably, wanting to reach over and pull blue eyes closer. James sighs. Nods. Says, “Yeah, I know, it’s fine,” and taps fingers over the back of his hand. An unconscious echo of the heart-rate monitor, that, or maybe not unconscious. They’re keeping him for a few hours just in case; he’s been told he can go home soon, and his body aches with the desire to do exactly that, unless that’s just the bruises and the embarrassment talking.   
  
James had come in only the day before, had come for a flying set visit, taking advantage of his own two weeks between projects and Michael’s shooting schedule in Scotland. Had been thrilled to discover the schedule’d work out just right for them to pop down to see family.    
  
James had wanted to show him round Glasgow. Not that they’ve not been previously, not that they won’t again, but they never seem to have enough time for it all. And James loves being home.   
  
“Gran won’t mind,” James murmurs, voice sincere as Highland bronze pinned to tartan folds. Proper warrior injury, indeed. James is braver than Michael’s ever had to be. James faces the prospect of old nightmares and cold hands every day. He can’t take the helpful knee-related painkillers because, he’d said once, he unfailingly has those dreams if he does. Those shadow-shaped dark-edged years-old dreams. The ones Michael tries as hard as possible to fight against at his side.   
  
“—and anyway she’ll see us for Christmas, at which I’ve promised to make cream cakes for the entire population of Glasgow, and also we’re adopting a purple kitten named Magneto.”   
  
“…wait, what?”   
  
“Knew you weren’t listening. Gran won’t mind, I said. It would’ve only been a day trip anyway, you’d’ve had to be back on set Wednesday. I mean, I like seeing my grandparents and all, but I also like seeing you.”   
  
“Seeing me hobble around, you mean. Kitten?”   
  
“Not seriously. Well, maybe someday. Not now. Too busy. And if I’m staying with you I can keep you from having to hobble around. Carry you, maybe. Sweep you off your feet.”   
  
“Hilarious,” Michael says, though in fact James probably could scoop him up bridal-style if provoked. Shorter, but sturdier. Glorious powerful shoulders and thighs. “Not what I was apologizing for.”   
  
“Oh. What, then?”   
  
“You.” Michael turns their hands, studying the traceries of delicate veins along the underside of James’s wrist, pale blue and full of life beneath fair skin and sunburst freckles. “D’you have graham crackers or something? You’ve been here for three hours…”   
  
James raises an eyebrow at him, but takes the concern seriously. “I have ginger biscuits in my bag, in fact. You know it’s still only a theory.”   
  
Michael raises an eyebrow of his own. Yes, it is. And if there’s even a shred of suggestion that low blood sugar exacerbates night terrors, then he, Michael, will damn well make sure James constantly has carbohydrates and easily metabolizable sugar within reach.   
  
If he can. If he can stand _up_.   
  
He glares at his disloyally fragile toes. They might be blushing in shame. Hard to tell under the splint and bandages.   
  
“I’m fine.” James’s voice is soft. Understanding. As always: understanding him. “I swear. More worried about you. Don’t murder your toes.”   
  
“They hate me. Us. They hate us. What if I can’t—”   
  
“They’re your _toes,_ ” James observes, and leans in to kiss him, swift and certain and bright amid the hospital greys and whites. “Not your arms. Not your heart. You can hold me if you need to. You can kiss me if you want to. I don’t mind taking care of you for once. Might be kind of fun. Nurse and patient fantasies and all that.”   
  
“Really? Also I love you.” He tugs on the hand until James leans in for another kiss. “And I _can_ still hold you.”   
  
“I did just say so. Keep up, you.”   
  
“Ah, bossy nurse fantasies, then.”   
  
“You like me that way,” James says, “and I love you too, don’t scare me like that again, I watched you fall off that wall and—just don’t, all right, I know I can’t actually ask that, I know, but let me pretend I can, fuckin’ please,” so Michael holds his hand very tightly and says, “I promise to behave, nurse, especially if you wear the skimpy uniform, I’ll even buy one for you, it’ll be fun,” and James starts laughing, watery and beautiful, holding onto him in turn.   
  


  
_ you’ve got love, real love _   
_ (you’ve got love, you’ve got love) _   
_ you’ve got love, sweet love _   
_ (you’ve got love, you’ve got love) _   
_ you’ve got me in a spin _   
_ I like the spin I’m in _   



End file.
